Carlos looked ancient and tired as he moved up to the lectern. It was the third-to-last funeral ever to be held. He un-creased a couple of sheets of paper with a sharp brusqueness and then began.

“My sister and I were both born within an hour of each other. She was slightly older. When we were young, she liked to remind me of it. I didn’t care, but it did set up an idea that somehow she was meant to be the more mature of the two of us. That she might have more answers, sometimes; that she led ahead, and I followed her into things. Sometimes it worked well; she would solve problems I had caused. I would shake her out of ruts with a bit of chaos and energy.

“But we were not always on the same team, when we were young. I could be a bully, quite frankly. When she got seriously into things, I would pick at them. Poke at her. Hide things, break things, mess up things, paint over them, when we were really children; just talk shit about them, later. But she got her own back. Didn’t really take it from me, in the end. Didn't really take shit from anyone about the things she cared about. Maybe that was my doing, eh? She dealt with me being an ass her whole life, so then she could deal with anyone.

“When we were adults, we didn’t spend so much time together, for a while. She was off, painting, mostly. I was off making something of myself journalistically, politically. A long time ago, now; none of you will even be close to remembering. But these last years - these last decades, after her husband John passed away, a long time after any of us should’ve - we’ve seen a lot of each other. We kept each other company. Kept each other alive, us and a few friends, all gone, or mostly gone now.”

He paused before continuing.

“So when I say Juanita was someone special, you know I have the, the experience to back it up. She was clever and witty. Creative and wise. She cared for people and looked after them. You all were lucky to live at the same time as her, even for a bit. I was lucky to be her twin. And when I think about what my life, what your lives, what the, the world, is, are going to be without her…”

He stopped again for a couple of seconds, looking as if he were chewing on something bitter.

“It’s going to be fucking hard, is what it is.

“Yeah, I’m swearing at her funeral! She would glare at me, tell me off for it. She would purse her lips. She would say something scathing - always was a beast, wasn’t I, who doesn’t care that he says too much. But she isn’t here, and it was her stupid idea that I should speak, so now I get to say at her funeral that I will fucking miss her, and there is not a damn thing she can do about it.”

There was a silence. Carlos muttered a couple of times into it, little old-man grunts with twitches of his face, but he didn’t start again. Until, abruptly, he did.

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“So many of you are never going to know what you missed. Never really know the opportunity you bloody threw away. If you didn’t really, really try to know her. Now you never will, and we’re all the poorer for it.”

He stepped away from the lectern, and moved back to his seat in the front row with the small-yet-loud sounds of someone existing within a large, echoing room. There was the silence which is the absence of applause after a speech. The celebrant, some curator or painter or other hippie Juanita had liked, said a few words thanking him (pah!) and introducing the next speaker, a colleague of ‘Ani’s who happened to be her great granddaughter but who hardly could have known her. Carlos settled back to endure the rest of the service, glaring at the various sculptures around the hall, and remaining mute throughout Ani's chosen songs.

When it was over, he did go and thank the celebrant - Juanita had asked her a favour, and she’d done it fine, after all - and started to leave. A few people made moves as if to come and speak to him; he made moves to avoid or discourage them. He saw Austen, teary eyed, talking to Phrasix, the young person who had been helping him - was still helping him - find competent individuals to sift through the mass of data that Abraham had left behind him. Austen looked up and made eye contact with him and he swiftly broke the connection. He would call her later, perhaps. She had spoken well, earlier in the ceremony, he supposed.

As he got towards the exit, his gaze was caught once again. Chae-won was sat in a wheelchair near the door. Her assistant - Sebastien, a “distant nephew”, Carlos remembered - stood slightly behind and to the side. She was bird-like; her back was no longer quite as rigidly straight as it had been. Her eyes were still somewhat severe. Her mouth was pressed shut. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. He went to her, and had to stand right in front of her before finally she looked up.

“Carlos,” she said slowly. Her head had a slight tremor, as did her right hand. It was a rocking back and forth motion which increased slightly as she seemed to work up to some further words. None were forthcoming.

“Anything else to say, Chae-won?” Carlos asked.

She looked at him, the tremor rolling. She didn’t speak. Carlos felt an aghast, shriveling feeling take hold of his guts. It was the same feeling he had felt in the silence when Chae-Won had spoken to the group after Freddie’s funeral some years before; when she had forgotten that Abraham had died. The same feeling, but worse. Outwardly, he scowled.

“Do you even know why you are here, Chae-Won?” he snapped. This seemed to break some seal.

“Of course I know. I have been told, and Sebastian keeps me very well informed,”

“And what is that he has informed you of?”

“I’m here for an important occasion. Sebastian keeps me well informed,” she said again firmly.

“You…” Carlos started, before a light clearing of the throat from Sebastian stopped him short. The younger man caught his eye with a meaningful look. He felt his shriveled guts twist and snap.

“Good to see you, Chae-Won,” he managed to choke out. She nodded to him. After hovering for a moment and finding nothing more, he walked past her to the door.

Outside was an antechamber, an entranceway to the great hall the ceremony had been held in. A few chairs were tastefully placed in small clusters for people passing through to sit on.

Carlos sped up. As he passed one of the chairs, he kicked out at it angrily. It was knocked a few feet and fell loudly onto its side. He rushed to get out, out into the sunlight.